


I Pick My Poison

by Kindassunshine



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindassunshine/pseuds/Kindassunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This close together Tobirama can feel the chakra spark between them like a lightning storm. He relaxed his hands on his knees, head bowed. If in the end they destroyed each other, so be it. It would be their fault alone.  </p><p>A late night visit. Tobirama is sure nothing could kill him quite like Madara and although he can see them heading straight for the edge, he's picked his poison...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Pick My Poison

**Author's Note:**

> ...because revenge is a dish best served hot!

Tobirama bowed his head, digging his knuckles into his scalp, wondering if he could change the contractor’s estimate through sheer force of will.  
It was past midnight, the lamp oil nearly burnt out. Beneath Tobirama’s forehead and elbows were the increasingly irate correspondence between himself and builders he’d commissioned for the hard landscaping; having finally convinced his brother that he couldn’t construct an entire village single-handed.  
He sighed, relaxing his grip on his short white hair. It wasn’t like they didn’t have money; the first time he’d seen the Uchiha war chest he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. Depressingly though, it seemed even pipe dreams were more costly than anticipated.  
And didn’t they know it he thought bitterly, turning his head so his cheek rested on the crinkled paper beneath him. Itama would have been twenty this month. Kawarama would have been… he counted under his breath, four months off eighteen. Izuna Uchiha would have been – Tobirama sat up sharply, forcing the though away. He refused to regret acting as any ninja would have done, even in the face of Madara’s glowers and his brother’s dour remorse.  
He looked down at the scrolls scattered before him, suddenly exhausted by the mundaneness of it all. It was so like his brother to leave him to sort out the detail while he completed a mission in the Land of Waves.  
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, knowing he should go to bed. Perhaps he’d just glance over the scroll Mito had smuggled him from the Uzumaki archive. Leaving the table scattered with crumpled bits of paper, he knelt on the cool wooden boards and spread the scroll full length before him. His fingertips tingled as he traced the characters.  
It was awful, beautiful and terrible all at once, the most complex seal he’d ever seen. Mito had shrugged when he’d told her assuring him that it had to be; to keep the tailed beast contained. He told her you couldn’t seal a force of nature inside a human body and she’d laughed saying she knew Senju men had no stamina, at which his brother had blanched.  
He sat back on his heels, rereading the instructions for the head seals forming them slowly as his eyes moved. Tricky, he decided twisting his hands clumsily from Snake into Hare then Monkey. Better suited to Uzumaki charka, steady and slow burning, unlike his; roaring through him like a tidal wave but definitely finite. He scratched his head thoughtfully, if he changed Hare there and there for Ox or maybe Tiger.  
The back of his neck prickled. The door scraped softly, Madara’s dark energy preceding him into the room. Tobirama did not look up, listening as the door sighed closed behind the silence figure. Paper rustled quietly as Madara flicked through the leaves, privacy unconsidered. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say.  
Madara moved unhurriedly around the table, footsteps soundless, and Tobirama guessed his feet were bare. A pause. This close together Tobirama can feel the chakra spark between them like a lightning storm. He relaxed his hands on his knees, head bowed. If in the end they destroyed each other, so be it. It would be their fault alone.  
As Madara loomed at his back Tobirama forced himself to remain motionless. The slightest hesitation, then there were fingertips on his shoulder; icy through his robe. The hand traced up until the fabric ended in the pale skin of his neck.  
Madara yanked once, so tie at his waist loosened, robe hanging from his shoulders and collar dipping down his spine. He closed his eyes feeling a cool hand on his nape; he had never thought there’d come a time he’d willingly bare his neck to Madara Uchiha.  
Madara stroked the first notch of his spine, skin rolling over bone. Not again, he thought desperately as Madara continued to caress him, never again. Madara was insane. A dangerous, half-tame animal his sentimental fool of a brother insisted on keeping around.  
Tobirama set him jaw; he would not allow himself to yield to this madness again. But then Madara was bending, bowing like a crescent moon, burning mouth pressing into the thick part of his shoulder teeth sinking deep into the muscle and Tobirama couldn’t draw in enough air to tell him to get away. Madara bit him so hard and so deeply he knew the bruise would ache for days. Only when Tobirama let out the smallest mewl of pain Madara did released him, leaving him to clutch tightly the throbbing bite as though this would keep the pain in.  
‘Leave,’ he grunted, his treacherous body tingling with anticipation. Madara moved, sliding a slim hand, swift and serpentine between his thighs to cup the evidence of his arousal.  
‘If you like,’ Madara murmured, slick tongue tracing along the shell of his ear. Tobirama tried to jerk loose but Madara squeezed making him yelp. He snickered as kissed behind his ear, along his hairline. ‘Ah, feeling a little moody tonight?’ he smirked as Tobirama wriggled, ‘I’m not surprised those estimates look extortionate.’  
‘What would you know about it?’ Tobirama grunted, finally succeeding in yanking free.  
‘I’m not your brother,’ Madara sneered straightening, black hair glossy in the lamp light, ‘I didn’t rely on my baby brother to handle all the accounting.’ Tobirama set his jaw; though he couldn’t deny the truth of this statement the criticism grated.  
‘Does Hashirama know how little you think of him?’ he muttered, gathering up the Uzumaki scroll quickly back to the other.  
‘What does it matter?’ Madara shrugged, extinguishing the lamps with a single flick of the hand-fan he carried, throwing them into instant gloom. ‘Besides, whatever he may be,’ he smirked, ‘he’s ten times the man you are.’ Tobirama didn’t speak, feeling tormenting black eyes on his back, stowing the scroll on a high shelf out of harm’s way.  
Madara was flopped low couch near the window. It was a clear cool night and as he sat moonlight spilled onto his languid form. He looked out of his element, Tobirama thought as he approached, cool colours smothering his internal fire until he seemed almost calm.  
Madara tipped his head to side considering him; it was not a look Tobirama liked. Sucking the split in his lip absently Madara waited; the accidental bruise Hashirama had given him on his jaw only just beginning to fade.  
Tobirama bent over the couch catching Madara by the back of the head, surprising him, and forcing their mouths together. Madara gave muffled grunt but Tobirama pressed his tongue between his lips, sinking his knees into the couch either side of the other’s waist. Madara writhed as Tobirama pressed him down onto his back without breaking the kiss.  
They wrestled silently, suck at the mouth, Madara scrabbling at his arms and shoulders trying to pry him off while Tobirama dug his fingers into thick black hair. After a few more moments ineffectual struggling Madara relented, going soft and pliant, allowing his tongue to slide deeply into his mouth. Tobirama felt himself grin, feeling heat pooling in his groin. From behind his eyelids he could see the scarlet gleam of the sharingan, activated by Madara’s fury. He was not surprised when Madara flipped them, a single sharp movement that left him winded.  
The dark man sat back on his heels, red eyes molten. Tobirama glared up at him unrepentant, he had no illusions about intimacy but there was a masochistic pleasure in making the other livid.  
Madara lent over him again, cautious, watching. He kissed lightly and Tobirama felt a tremble spread through him. For moment he could imagine how it could be between them, if they weren’t who they were.  
He grunted, turning his head sharply burning with a kind of raw humiliation. Madara shrugged, cupping his head and pulling his short hair a little so he would bare his throat. Tobirama grumbled as Madara settled against him, licking and biting over his shoulders and chest. Sat on his lap Madara was surprisingly heavy, though thin and an inch or so shorter, as though his molten chakra doubled his body weight.  
Using a kunai concealed in his sleeve, Madara cut the tie at his waist pulling away the fabric to examine him. He shifted self-consciously, hard already, forearms framing his head. Madara hummed in his throat, icy fingers stroking over his cock lazily. Tobirama bit his lip feeling his feet curl as Madara clasped his testicles and rubbed between his buttocks.  
Tobirama glanced at him, framed between his naked thighs. His face was shadowy, sharingan glowing beneath black eyelashes. He wouldn’t call him handsome – that seemed too stable and too transcendent. Vivid best described him, power burning within, drawing every eye. Unlike those with perfect features, Tobirama reflected, Madara would lose the greater part of his appeal when he lost his life. It didn’t matter; he had no use for a lovely corpse.  
He hadn’t removed a single item of clothing Tobirama noticed, watching as Madara dug in his inner pocket making the armour plates at his waist cling. He could smell the oil before he felt it, something pungent and expensive Madara claimed to have stolen from the bedside of a Daimyo. Tobirama smirked in spite of himself – that story seemed oddly romantic for Madara.  
Madara palmed the back of his knee, a pair of slick fingers running down his inner thigh pushing inside him without a warning. He growled, body instantly tightening on the slight intrusion. Madara made a soft frustrated noise, hand curling automatically as he tried to make a fist. Tobirama hissed, thigh muscles twitching as sparks of light guttered behind his eyes.  
‘Ouch,’ he said tartly as Madara sighed withdrawing his hand.  
‘I can give you something to relax,’ he muttered, red eyes flicking over his face briefly. Tobirama considered wondering what Madara might have on him. When he’d found out it had struck him as unexpectedly human for to be Madara self-medicating; nightmares he’d guessed although he’d never ask.  
‘I don’t want to be off my head,’ he grunted, twisting to prop himself up on an elbow. He could the see the sharingan roll in the dark then Madara was gripping his hips lowering his mouth.  
Tobirama resisted the urge to wrestle loose with difficulty, unable to ignore the glint of incisors. His mouth was wet, molten around him, scattering his thoughts like a broken glass and making him pant through his teeth. Black hair draped across his stomach.  
He groaned hips surging upwards as Madara dug blunt nails into his thigh. His back arched off the couch as Madara pressed a finger inside him again. He squirmed, trapped between Madara’s burning mouth twisting fingertips.  
Madara gripped his waist, leaning into him as he writhed. Tobirama moaned, feeling his abdominals tighten as he reached his edge. Madara relaxed his grip, pushing up onto all fours hands digging into the cushions either side of his torso, thighs pressing against the back of his.  
Then he was unclipping his armour plates and loosening the front of his robe, opening it just enough to withdraw his cock. Tobirama sighed, letting Madara fold back his leg, fitting the arch of his foot to the round part of his shoulder. He felt something firm and moist brush against his hole before Madara sunk fully into him.  
He arched, teeth clenched, thin skin splitting as Madara pushed into his body. There were worse kinds of pain he knew, watching hazily as Madara touched him. Cool hand smoothing up over his stomach, across his ribcage, down to pubic bone. He was giving short shallow thrusts, breath coming in short gasps.  
Tobirama looked up at him, heat building, feeling sweat prickle on his chest and forehead, thighs now sliding against Madara’s waist as he moved deep inside his body. He groaned arching into him, drawing him deeper.  
Madara was bowed, almost doubled over, long black hair spilling on to Tobirama’s stomach like split ink. He reached up for a handful. Madara growled but didn’t stop moving, hips rolling irresistibly. Tobirama closed his eyes tipping back his head. He was close. Each firm up thrust sending sparks of glowing pleasure spinning outwards from where they were connected. He could feel his body clench and smirked at Madara sharp gasp.  
He stroked himself, biting his lip to prevent a whimper escaping him. They should stop this, he knew. It was too dangerous, too stupid, too much. Madara was too much, sucking every good thing into his malevolent gravity until the entire world was nothing but burning ash.  
He could feel Madara’s breath on his throat, feel saliva drip from his lip. Tobirama moaned, vision dissolving to burning white, climax twisting up through him; hand on his cock suddenly sticky. Above him Madara groaned. Tobirama opened his eyes to find Madara watching him from beneath heavy lids. He flushed, feeling his body tighten with a tingling aftershock.  
Madara continued to watch him, hips sliding rhythmically against his buttocks. His head was bent close enough for Tobirama to see the pattern of his sharingan and feel an unpleasant jolt when he realised it was almost Izuna’s.  
Madara hissed through his teeth, his head sinking onto Tobirama’s breastbone. In spite of himself Tobirama held him, lifting his hips into each thrust, hugging him against his chest. Madara gave a low growl and he could feel hot slickness overfilling him, wetting his thighs. He could barely take a breath before Madara was shrugging his hands off and pulling out of him leaving a sharp sting in his wake.  
Straightening his robe and pushing back his black hair, Madara glanced at him once before standing.  
‘You’re bleeding,’ he muttered, lighting the nearest lamp.  
‘I’ll live,’ he grunted back, stretching along the couch wondering if Madara was ashamed to have made him bleed.  
‘Ah, you must be used to it by now,’ he sneered, running his eyes over Tobirama with contempt. Tobirama smirked making no attempt to cover himself.  
‘Is that why you keep coming back?’ he asked sweetly, ‘Uchiha boys won’t let you fuck them until they bleed? Or is it just because I remind you of my bro–’  
‘Do not speak to me about him,’ Madara hissed taking a step back towards him.  
‘Ah, don’t get so over excited,’ he snorted, sitting up with a wince. Madara continued to glare at him as he retrieved his trousers, pulling them on awkwardly, and retying his robe.  
‘Why did you kiss me?’ he growled suddenly and Tobirama laughed. He wasn’t sure he’d call the half wrestling match they’d had a kiss.  
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ he shrugged, amused by Madara’s confusion.  
‘I don’t want–’ Tobirama stalked past him with a sigh, beginning to gather the letters scattered across the table. Geniuses were all the same in their own way, even his headstrong brother, too used to unquestioned power, too used to making the rules. But they weren’t living by the laws of the jungle anymore. The treaty was signed. Madara Uchiha had to step into line, just like everybody else. He might as well get used to it.  
‘I’m not interested in what you want, Madara,’ Tobirama told him flatly, ‘so suck it up or leave me alone.’  
‘Don’t think I’ve gotten sentimental, Senju,’ Madara growled, leaning on the table across from him, eyes gleaming red, ‘if it wasn’t for your brother you’d be dead already.’  
‘If it wasn’t for my brother it is you who’d be dead already,’ Tobirama snapped anger short circuiting his self-control, ‘just think you could be with Izuna right now.’ Coldness seemed to spread out from Madara in an invisible wave. His face was bone white. Tobirama knew he’d broken the rules; their tacit agreement. Silence filled the space between them.  
‘It took him nearly a week to die, did you know that?’ Madara spoke gently, so gently it made Tobirama want to scream. ‘Did you?’ he repeated.  
‘No,’ Tobirama grunted, trying to stop his hands shaking as he gathered together his papers.  
‘His lungs didn’t collapse right away so he was just able to keep breathing,’ Madara continued voice even, ‘but they we slowly filling with fluid so every second it was getting more difficult to breath, slowly suffocating, you could hear it.’  
‘Stop it,’ Tobirama muttered, clenching his hands into fists, head bowed.  
‘Why?’ Madara smirked, teeth white and sharp.  
‘Because I don’t want to hear it,’ he snapped, raising his head glaring into Madara’s eyes; purest Uchiha black, where once they had been grey. He’d noticed. He had known.  
‘Aren’t you proud of your achievements?’ Madara hissed.  
‘He would have kill me,’ Tobirama growled, forcing down the writhing guilt, ‘if he were fast enough, just as you would have killed my brother but you weren’t good enough, Madara, and you’re not now.’ For a moment he thought Madara would hit him, and in that moment he thought he wanted him to. Madara lowered his chin, sharingan silently deactivating.  
‘You had better hope that remains the case,’ he spoke softly but Tobirama could feel his chakra flare. Without another word Madara turned his back on him and, with a flick of his black hair, stalked out. Tobirama watched him go, hands going slack at his sides.


End file.
